


let's love for one song

by mapped



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Dildos, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapped/pseuds/mapped
Summary: The first time Jack calls Max Anne's husband, Anne and Max both have some complicated feelings about it.Set in the gap between S2 and S3.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistflarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistflarden/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [mistflarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistflarden/pseuds/mistflarden) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
> 
> Max and Anne having sex with a strap-on. I would love to see it taking place in canon, but it can be a modern AU as well. The author is free to decide who wears the harness.
> 
> \---
> 
> I hope you like it, Gwen! <3
> 
> Title from 'Peaches' by In the Valley Below.
> 
>  **Warning:** There is a very brief reference to canon rape.

“He’s started calling you my husband,” Anne says, coming into Max’s room— _their_ room—and taking off her hat. “I don’t like it one bit.”

A surprised huff of laughter escapes Max’s lips. Of course. What a very Jack thing to do, to call Max Anne’s husband. “And why do you not like it?” Max asks. She sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her.

“We’re both women,” Anne says, sitting down as Max has indicated. “There ain’t no husband in this partnership of ours.”

“If we both know that, what is the harm in Jack calling me your husband?” Max is secretly tickled by it, by the idea of being Anne’s husband. Anne is the one who wears the trousers, the protector with daggers hanging from her belt. Probably Jack is in love with the witty irony of this appellation he’s assigned to Max. But something about it… something about it appeals to Max, too.

“I just don’t like it,” Anne says, and her jaw is tight, her eyes far away. The smile slips off Max’s face at the sight of Anne’s expression. She reaches for Anne’s hand and squeezes it. “I told Jack I couldn’t be his wife. When we were out getting the _Urca_ gold. I told him—I couldn’t. But he and I’d be partners until they put us in the fucking ground, I said.”

Oh. Max did not know that. It was clear to her, when Anne and Jack came back from retrieving the gold, that they had untangled the knot between them, but Max did not know how they had done so. Now she does.

She stays silent; Anne is not finished.

“But with you—” Anne halts. Her eyes come back from the memory of being at sea with Jack; they focus on Max, now. “With you, it’s different. I had a husband, and I ain’t ever gonna have another one.” She bares her teeth against the sting of those old scars. “You _ain’t_ my husband. But…” She falters.

Max thinks she understands what Anne is trying to communicate. She clasps Anne’s hand tighter. “No, I am not your husband,” she agrees. She brings Anne’s hand up to her lips and kisses Anne’s knuckles. “But whatever you would like me to be to you, I am that.”

“ _No_.” Anne snatches her hand away from Max and withdraws into herself, body hunching up, as if she is trying to become shadow in the sunlit room. “I’m scared you feel about me like I feel about Jack. I killed men to save you, like he did for me. I owe him my life. But I can’t have you feeling that way about me, Max. I know how it feels, and I don’t want that for you.”

“Anne,” Max says, firmly, putting her hand on Anne’s arm, coaxing Anne to let daylight warm her again. “I do not feel that way.” She pauses, thinking of herself screaming and sobbing on her knees as Eleanor pushed her aside for _sand_ , for a dirty town built on shifting ground. “Anne… You know I love you, but if ever I should be required to choose between you and my own path, I would choose my own path. You are not my path that I would follow to the end of the world. I do not owe you that. I do not owe anybody anything.”

Max swallows against the lump in her throat. It is horrible to speak of potential partings, but it is also necessary for Anne to know this. For them both to acknowledge it.

The blue of Anne’s eyes brims, but she nods. “What if I want to follow you?” she says, with a weak smile.

Max smiles back, even though her heart aches with the knowledge that it is Jack that Anne would always follow, not her. She tugs on Anne’s arm and draws her nearer, until Anne puts her head on Max’s shoulder. Max runs her fingers through Anne’s hair; it’s silk-soft and still smells faintly of rosemary. She washed it for Anne just yesterday. She almost had to drag Anne to the tub by Anne’s coattails, but once Anne was in the water and Max’s hands were in Anne’s hair, Anne sighed and stopped grumbling about how she didn’t need a bath.

Anne burrows closer still, playing with Max’s necklace idly. She traces the silver chain down to the heavy pendant. The front of Max’s dress scoops low as ever, and Anne’s thumb skims the top of Max’s breast—apparently an accident at first, but again, with more deliberate purpose.

Max breathes in deep. Anne kisses her neck, each kiss lingering and tender, and she closes her eyes. She does not want to think about the uncertainty of the future. It is odd that her future is so much bigger than herself. Mere months ago, when she was a whore, her future was only herself: she knew nothing other than her own body and its safety. She would have left this place without sparing a single glance behind her. But now, this place _is_ her future, and everything in Nassau plays a part in it. Everything in Nassau she must consider as a part of _her_. 

She is proud of what she has achieved, but if she is honest with herself, there are days when she misses the simplicity of the past, when her own feelings were her dearest possession, when the love she felt for Eleanor was worth more to her than anything else, because she didn’t _have_ anything else.

A bitter smile twists her mouth. How perverse.

But… Perhaps her feelings are still the truest things she owns, the only things she can hold onto no matter what befalls her. Even if she and Anne may be separated one day, _this_ , what she feels right now—it has value that cannot be taken from her.

Anne is stripping her dress from her now, fingers deft with practice, and Max sets to work removing Anne’s clothes, too, in between kisses that grow hungrier and hungrier. When they are both naked, Max lying back against a pillow and Anne sitting beside her, she grabs Anne’s hand and brings it to her pussy, pressing Anne’s middle finger so that it dips into the wetness between her lips. Anne frowns, eyes darting quickly towards Max’s.

“I thought this ain’t your kinda thing,” Anne says. “You never let me do this.”

“I want you to now,” Max says, cradling Anne’s cheek with her free hand. “Ma chérie, I’m asking you to. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fuck me, if you would like to.”

Anne’s face is so open as she turns into Max’s touch and nuzzles Max’s palm. If other people could see the way she is looking at Max now, would they even believe that this woman, with her long hair as red as the blood she can spill, is called Anne _Bonny_?

Anne kisses Max’s palm. “If you’re sure,” she says, watching Max carefully as Max nods. “I _have_ always wanted to use one of them things.” She grins. It is always a startling thing when Anne grins, like a sudden cool breeze on a stiflingly hot day: a thing to thank the gods for.

Max laughs. “Ma chère, I am eager to find out how well you can you use ‘one of them things’ too.”

Anne lies down on her side next to Max, propped on an elbow, and she rubs Max’s pussy, just the outside at first, tentatively, before she pushes a finger inside, not deep, but teasing with fluttery touches just inside the entrance. She heeds what Max has taught her, that there is no need to search deep within, but pleasure reveals itself easily in shallow waters. She has learnt well. Max’s pulse starts to race.

Anne adds another finger, and the quick motions of those fingers feel so _good_ , sending shudders of sensation through Max’s body, the glow of pleasure beginning to make her limbs feel like golden honey. She wriggles her hips and moans.

She has not had anything inside her for so long. It is not that she never enjoyed it before; she did, sometimes, though not very often. Most clients wanted penetration, and it made her sore. She preferred other methods to pursue her own pleasure when she was not working. But after all that she had suffered on the beach, in that tent… For weeks, it _burned_ even to touch herself like this, and so she began to avoid it completely.

Now, though. Now.

She wants this back for herself. She may be Nassau now, but her _self_ is still the only thing she can ever be certain of possessing. And she wants Anne to fill her entire being. If one day… If one day they must part, if one day the sand must give way under her feet, she wants to have this now.

“Deeper,” she pants, looking into Anne’s clear blue eyes. “More, please, Anne.”

Anne stretches her open with three fingers curling deeper inside her now, fingers that are as demanding and determined as Anne ever is. Max spreads her legs wider, gasping and writhing on the dampening sheets as Anne keeps on relentlessly pressing within her. Anne only needs to slide one thumb lightly over her clit a few times before she comes so hard, stray tears run from her tightly-shut eyes. It is how she imagines a whole tub of warm bathwater poured over her head would feel, a thudding cascade of heat submerging her, a roar of pleasure vibrating under her skin.

 _Merde_ , she had forgotten how different orgasms can feel when she has something inside her. 

She surges up and kisses Anne fiercely, whining in the back of her throat. Anne pushes her back down after a few moments of breathless kissing, of Max sucking Anne’s lower lip. “D’you know what you looked like?” Anne asks, almost desperately. “ _Fuck_ , Max, I ain’t ever seen anything so…” She trails off, shaking her head. Her expression is very near one of sorrow, her eyes shining, her mouth hanging open in devastated speechlessness.

Love. Love looks like that. 

Max clutches Anne’s hand. “Mon amour,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over Anne’s knuckles. “S’il te plaît, je te veux.”

Anne kisses Max, gently this time. Then she leans away and looks into the chest by the side of the bed, and rummages in it before coming back with one of the dildos. She has picked one of the smaller ones, made of black leather. It is perfect and exactly what Max wants. Max helps Anne with the harness, and as she does, she cheekily takes the opportunity to touch Anne as much as possible, letting her fingers slip along Anne’s wetness—and _oh_ , Anne is _so_ wet.

Max groans and Anne growls and coats the dildo in oil. She kneels in between Max’s thighs and Max’s legs wrap around her waist. She sinks slowly into Max, so careful and good and lovely.

“Yes!” Max cries. “You are wonderful, ma chère, _please_ , keep going.”

Anne fills her up so sweetly, and Max lets herself believe for a moment that she would be Anne’s choice, if Anne ever had to make a choice. It is a peaceful little moment, and it aches and _aches_ within her, a bliss that radiates from the tight fullness in her pussy.

She draws Anne down to kiss her as Anne rocks into her in unhurried movements, her hands in Anne’s hair. Then she kisses Anne’s neck, sucking the skin there while she grasps Anne’s breasts with both hands, massaging them and rolling Anne’s nipples between the pads of her fingers. Anne gasps and fucks into Max harder. “ _Jesus_ , Max, fuck,” she swears when Max pinches both of her nipples at the same time. “ _Ah!_ ” She pushes down on Max’s shoulder forcefully and thrusts deep into Max, and Max moans and digs her heels into Anne’s back.

“You are mine, are you not?” Max asks, her breath coming short, her hips grinding upwards to meet Anne’s. She strokes Anne’s cheek; it is hot under her hand, hot and flushed pink, so pretty against the fiery red of her hair. “Anne, mon trésor. Ma belle pirate.”

“I’m yours,” Anne murmurs in affirmation, voice low. She raises her hand to her cheek, to take Max’s hand and lace their fingers together. “I’m yours, Max.” Her nose bumps against Max’s, and they inhale each other’s air as she carries on fucking Max with steady strength, the smooth hardness of the dildo making Max whimper each time it slides deep inside.

Anne leans down and licks one of Max’s nipples, grazing it with her teeth. Max shivers, one hand sneaking down to touch herself while she grabs Anne’s buttock with her other hand and squeezes it, hard. Anne groans low and bucks, slamming into her with no sense of rhythm, only helpless desire.

Anne’s tongue flicks against her nipple again and again, and Max circles her clit with her fingers and comes, clenching around the rigid length of the dildo. She is aware only of the lightness in her body for a while, and then she realises she is saying Anne’s name over and over, and Anne is caressing her face, tucking away strands of hair that were stuck to her perspiring skin.

Her heart quakes at the affection she sees in Anne’s eyes; she falls quiet and they regard each other for a long moment. Then she makes quick work of Anne’s harness, casting it to one side, and she lies on the bed while Anne presses her legs all the way back and grinds against her, their pussies aligned, Anne’s wetness mingling with hers. Fuck, it feels brilliant. She very nearly _shouts_ , especially because she knows that Anne loves the noises that she makes. “Oui, oui, tu es parfaite,” she moans with abandon, and smirks when Anne snarls and rocks against her more urgently. She admires the flex of muscles in Anne’s abdomen as Anne’s hips undulate back and forth, the flushed expanse of Anne’s neck as Anne throws her head back in pleasure. It does not take long before Anne comes with a soft cry, breathing harshly, a dazed smile gracing her pink face.

She drops a kiss onto the skin on the back of Max’s calf before letting go of Max’s legs and collapsing next to her. They lie facing each other, each of their bodies curving in crescent moons towards the other.

“So, _husband_ …” Max ventures after some time, and Anne stares at her before bursting into laughter.

“No,” Anne says, still laughing. “ _No_. I ain’t having this from you too.” She rolls away from Max in mock annoyance, turning her back on Max.

“Very well,” Max says, smiling. “We will have none of that.” She scoots close and hugs Anne’s back, buries her nose in the curtain of Anne’s hair, smelling the scent of sweat and rosemary. “We will be what we are, and it will be more than enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are really appreciated! <3 You can find me [on tumblr](http://reluming.tumblr.com/) where I'm always happy to talk about pirates with anyone who will listen.


End file.
